The angry four-year old is very powerful. That youth can set the course for a lifetime. The storm that became my life, as a young man, can be traced to the dictates of a little boy. I see him now in the eye of the storm, brooding, stewing… Choosing. He was hurt and worn down. The choice he settled on created a false gravity and a history to support it. Magic. Now for a new choice and new magic. I remember my imaginary childhood friend. What he looks like. His name and how he presented himself. Enoch. I have known Enoch since but had forgotten that I knew him then. Enoch is transparent. Light and matter pass right through him. Enoch is all-knowing. At four years old people did not appreciate my acquaintance with him. Frustrated and angry I shunned him. Closed the door and ignored him. The time to correct this has arrived and a great comfort sweeps over me as I remember that, Enoch, who I have known as an adult, is my long-lost childhood friend.
As a wave of emotion erupts from my person I will see where it carries me. It seems I may have found the passage. I hope so. Enoch, I am sure, knows the way and if I have found it he will advise me.
Michael, The Mystic Tourist ©2012